Skip to main content

Cropped

We were going to go shopping. A friend and I. She came here and when she did, she opened my front door. Chicky flew out the door.

I suppose is was inevitable. I was tempting fate, letting him have run of the house, spreading his little white wings, dive-bombing everyone who came over.
Chicky liked to tempt fate, too. He would strut across the hardwood floor, puffed out, enticing the cat. Chicky lived through a Curious Cat, a Mind-Controlled Cat, a Vindictive Cat. Chicky just got cockier. He would chirp so loud as he ambled across the floor. Here Kitty, Kitty.
Chicky was one damn brave bird.
Or at least that is how I am going to break it to the kids when they come home Sunday night. I am going to remind them of all the brave little Chicky stories I know. I can add in a few "I Saw With My Own Eyes!" tales.
Then we will have a week of birdie bedtime stories. Chicky in Peru. Chicky in Orlando. Chicky And The Evil Yeti In Antarctica. Chicky Takes Over Egypt On The Head Of A Giant Cat Statue...
My daughter will look at me like I am lying.
And she will be right.
I ran outside after Chicky.
Climbed a tree for Chicky.
Removed two more screens, left my windows open and let in more Flying Things. All for Chicky.
But the last time I saw him, he was getting chased by a brown bird with a large wingspan.
But if I know Chicky...
I hoped you enjoyed your stay.
Good Luck, Stupid.

Comments

The Writer said…
My thoughts are with Chicky. And with you on Sunday. Best of luck, Q.
Morgan said…
"Good luck, stupid."

Very, very sound advice. I like that, very much. I'll tell myself that from time to time, and think of you, Q.
Esther said…
I hope chicky has adventures that rival Baron von Munchausen (sp?) ;)
cbeck said…
flying is for the... ummm

you could always get another and spray-paint it white.?.

I know, it wouldn't be quite the same.

I had a bird for a while. It was a mean little bastard. I spent hours trying to teach it to say "Peachie is a pretty bird" and all it ever did was bite me. Birds went on my list right under cats.

I bet Chicky enjoyed the wind rushing over him though.
Queenie said…
I think so, too.
I think it must have been awesome.

Q

Popular posts from this blog

Unending Paper Chase

You check in on me when you get your break for lunchtime now. You never used to. You ask me, "Are you all right?" You breath in and out hard once through your nose, like it is a chore to even ask. It seems to me that for you everything is an obligation, even holding my hand. Everything you do doesn't feel like anything more than surveillance now. I don't want the days to end and it is getting harder to sleep at night. I am starting to feel sick, like I have the flu. I'm always cold. But I haven't eaten much lately. My stomach is filled with acid. I smile at you anyway. I write two letters a day. One to keep you smiling and one that tells of the truth, but they both look the same. You do not know that I form certain words and sentences in a way that triggers me, in a way that reminds me of what is real. It is something that I started doing in grade school for tests, so that I could easily remember the answers, and then later, so my mother would not underst...

Boxing Day

Countless times, on the weekends when you are here, you leave for me a stream of yellow in the bathtub. Something angled wrong in this 160 year old building. Sometimes you hit the tiles, as you whip your dick to the left to spray. Do you hold a finger over your pisshole? Do you laugh inside your head? I don't want to know. She bathes in there too.  I have been kind even letting you here. It is only because I love your father.    It is May or June, I don't remember. As sickness washes over me and the rest of the planet too, it can be easy to lose track of time. We tend to the plants, stroke their leaves and name them all. We watch the cat grow fatter, as she lolls in the sun on the stolen chair cushion she's dragged to the hard cement balcony floor. I feel like I know Gamer Chad better than myself and she complains about Jordan Peterson. She can't stand his voice.  But I am more tired and angry on weekends. I tell my her so. I tell her my solution. She tells me she...

Below One Eye

It's just a phase, the Moon says to her, when she tells him she can't sleep. Up again, at 6 a.m., tossing and turning through fitful dreams. The sort of dreams that say, You can still have this, if you want this. Weeks of them again now. They are not unpleasant, especially if she can wake herself up fast when she realises where she is. Before she sees his face. She has taken to arming herself with protection. She conjures up her older brother's face and he brings along his wife. They stand beside her and help wake her up. "But if you don't want to," her brother says, leaves the offer on the plate, "I can kill him instead." But I disagree. He doesn't want to die. And that's such a shame. It is the end of winter now. It holds on like the cat who doesn't want to be picked up. The hateful sort of cat; the kind who would spit at you instead of nuzzle. And that makes it hard. Not to want This. She has said nothing to him, that she hasn't...